Haunted
by everfaraway
Summary: Clint Barton is an assassin with a bounty on his head who is running out of places to go. Nick Fury is head of a top secret intelligence agency looking for recruits. So when Fury finds Barton, he offers him a new life. But is Barton desperate enough to take the offer? Or will he keep running? Warnings inside
1. Alias's & Hand Grenades

Alias's & Hand Grenades

**_Author: This first few lines of this was sitting in a notebook for the past few weeks but I  
was kinda uninspired for a while. But after seeing my councilor today, who suggested that  
if writing Hawkeye the way I do helps, keep writing him this way. Not sure where this one  
came from exactly or when Fury got so involved. I own nothing, except the nameless peoples.  
Blood, language, death, murder, smart ass Clint. Multiple references to 2003's SWAT. R&R._**

**_Another language_**

"You've made your rounds, haven't you Brian Gamble?"

Clint tensed & looked up from where he sat stitching his right arm. "Do I know you?" he asked, glancing at knife on the table beside him. It was small & light... he could throw it easily... assuming he got the chance to.

But the intruder had the element of surprise on his side, something Clint preferred to have himself when ever possible.

He had been so focused on his wound that he had not heard the intruder walk in.

Stupid... that would probably kill him. If not tonight... later.

"I don't spend time anywhere near your social circles Gamble. Or is it Barton?"

There was a smirk in the stranger's voice. He knew Brian Gamble was an alias, a fake identity Clint had created to avoid getting arrested.

He was a wanted man after all.

"Why are you asking questions that you probably know the answers to?" Clint growled, tieing off the thread & snipping it.

The man behind him said nothing as Clint moved to sit on the table. The intruder was a dark skinned man, as tall as he was at least, in a black body suit & trenchcoat. There was a gun strapped to his right thigh, which made Clint leery... but he didn't show it. He knew the face, knew the man standing in his safehouse.

"You here to kill me? Hondo?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. Hondo had been a legend in LA PD, especially in SWAT. But like Brian Gamble, he was an alias. Clint had done his homework when McCabe told him Hondo had been brought in to recruit & train a team for SWAT.

"No I'm here to offer you a chance."

"Who is?" Clint asked, picking up his knife & toying with it. He had learned from the Swordsmaster to never let his enemies forget how dangerous he could be. Anything he could get his hands on could become a potential weapon for him.

"Nick Fury."

Fury?

Was this guy serious?

"You must have one hell of a temper." he smirked, grey-blue eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter.

"You aren't clever. The world is crumbling around you Barton. You are running out of places to hide." Fury told him.

The laughter in his eyes died & anger surged through him. "Who's hiding?" he growled.

"Your bar hopping & nightly fights haven't endeared you to the locals. Sooner or later, someone will whisper the right rumor in the wrong ear. And your enemies will come looking for you. Sooner more likely than later." Fury told him.

"Who do you work for?" Clint snarled, glaring at him. He was dangerously tense, ready to attack in a heartbeat if he felt he needed to. He had no shortage of enemies so it was impossible to say who Fury was with.

"The Strategic Homeland Intervention..." Fury began before Clint held up a hand to shush him.

Clint slid off the table silently, cocking his head. He had heard footsteps outside & the hair on the back of his neck was on end. "Company." he mouthed, as he grabbed his backpack from the bed & pulling a gun from his waistband. He didn't have much to his name but the backpack held everything he wanted to hold onto.

The door flew open & banged against the wall as men in jeans & bulletproof vests rushed in. The leader paused, glancing between Fury & Clint. They had not been expecting Clint to have heard them or for him to have company.

**_"Kill the black man! The blonde is to be tortured!"_** he snapped.

**_"Torture this!"_ **Clint shouted, grabbing something from a box next to the table & tossing it into the crowd in his doorway.

"Why do you have a box of grenades!" Fury demanded, kicking out the window.

"Less questions! More getting the fuck out of here!" Clint shouted, shoving Fury out the window & diving out after him. Grenades weren't the only things in his safe house. There was plenty of ammo laying around & some gasoline in a corner. Just in case.

Fire shot out the window, blowing out whatever glass was not already scattered in the alley below. The resulting shockwave from the explosion shattered windows in the surrounding buildings. Clint's ears rang for a moment as he collided with the cement before everything went silent & dark.

Clint coughed & opened his eyes a little bit. Why was he laying in alley, surrounded by broken glass?

Oh... yeah.

He tossed a grenade into a group of assholes who had invaded his safe house & intended to capture & torture him.

Then he took a swan dive out of the window.

"Real smart Clint." he groaned, rolling onto his back. The pain that shot through him immediately made him regret it.

"FUCK ME!" he screamed, throwing himself back onto his stomach. He couldn't think of a time he had been in more pain. Bile rose in his throat & he retched. Being impaled to that damn tree by Trickshot years ago had not hurt as bad as his back did now.

Fury groaned at the smell of vomit, smoke & scorched flesh. The left side of his face was pure agony, his shoulder throbbed & the world was blurry. There were no sounds of sirens... might not be for a while... if at all. The "law" was dished out by the locals here. Police had no authority. It truly was hell.

"Son of... a mother... fucking cock sucking... little bitch." a voice panted nearby.

Fury looked over to see Clint laying on his stomach & appearing to be in serious pain. Blood coated one side of his face & he smelled like burned flesh. "Barton." he said.

No response.

"Barton!" he snapped.

Still no response.

Fury leaned over & tapped the other man's shoulder.

Clint's head swung in his direction. Both sides of his face were covered in blood. Glass? The rough cement? Fury couldn't tell.

"What happened to your eye?" Clint asked, staring at him. The left side of Fury's face was covered in some dark substance that appeared to be blood with glass shards protruding here & there.

Fury resisted the urge to reach up & touch the left side of his face. It hurt enough as it was. "Can you walk?" he asked.

Clint cocked his head. Fury was talking.. at least he seemed to be. His lips were moving but Clint couldn't hear the words.

Fury got to his feet slowly, missing Clint's look of confusion. "Fuck." he groaned as his body screamed with each movement.

"What's my back look like?" Clint asked. He didn't want to turn his head to attempt to look himself.

The world was spinning fast enough as it was.

It didn't need any extra encouragement.

Fury squinted at Clint's back & cringed. The back of his shirt had been burned away & the exposed flesh was an angry red & bloody mess. He was no medic but he guessed that it was a severe second degree burn.

"That bad?" Clint murmured.

Fury nodded & hauled the other man slowly to his feet. Clint cried out as the motion of standing straight pulled his burned back. "There's an old warehouse nearby. I can call for an extraction there." Fury said, looking at Clint.

Clint's eyes narrowed as he tried to read Fury's lips. He had picked up the talent in the circus but hadn't had a reason to practice it in years. But now he was glad he had picked up the talent.

"Warehouse. Extraction. Treat our wounds." Fury repeated patiently.

Clint understood the second time & nodded his consent. With his burned back & one of side of Fury's face covered in blackish... something & littered with glass, they were practically begging for infections if they didn't treat their injuries. Gingerly he slid his foot under one of the straps of his backpack & kicked it into the air with practiced ease. Fury caught it before he could & slipped it onto his back. "To this warehouse then." Clint sighed, glancing up at the burning remains of his latest safe house.

Fury was right... even though he hated to admit it.

He was running out of places to go.

**_Author: I do like the thought of all other charcters Renner played are alias's for Hawkeye._**


	2. Hell In A Handbasket

Hell In A Handbasket

**_Author: Two chapters in about 36 hours yay. This is all roughly set about 20 years prior to Iron Man. Taking  
some liberties with the timeline & what happened to Fury's left eye. Cookies to whoever catches the reason  
behind Fury & Coulson calling Dr. Streiten (seen in the Agents of SHIELD pilot) Shepherd. I own nobody._**

"Sir?"

"Coulson how many times have I told you to let him rest? In peace?"

Fury turned his head slightly. He knew those two voices & found it amusing to hear them bickering.

"You say it like that Shepherd & it makes it sound like I'm dead." he chuckled.

"Welcome back sir." Coulson piped up.

Fury opened his right eye & waited for the world to come into focus. Coulson stood off the side dressed in slacks & a dress jacket, which was unbuttoned to reveal a Captain America shirt underneath. Fury never knew if he should laugh or roll his eyes at Coulson's obsession with Captain America.

"What's the damage Shepherd?" he asked.

Streiten cocked an eyebrow at the nickname & said, "Your left eye is a complete loss, courtesy of some glass shards. Your left shoulder was dislocated & a few muscles torn. You'll heal with time. And add more scars to your collection."

"What about Barton?" Fury demanded, sitting up.

"The man who was with you in the warehouse? He'll live. Once he's awake, I'll discuss the option of skin grafts for his burns with him. His hearing however... there's nothing I can do for that." Streiten told him.

"What's wrong with his hearing?" Fury demanded.

"His right eardrum is shattered & his left is damaged. He might be entirely deaf." Streiten told him.

"I want to see him." Fury growled.

"What you need to do is rest." the doctor said sharply.

Coulson looked from Streiten to Fury, then went to help his commanding officer. "Sorry Shepherd. You're fighting a losing battle." he whispered. Coulson was dead loyal to Fury... why, nobody was entirely sure.

"How long has it been since the extraction?" Fury asked as he let Coulson guide him down the hall.

"Four & a half days. Streiten kept you in a drug induced coma for a couple of days. Barton is still under." Coulson admitted, opening the door to Barton's room.

The assassin was stretched out on his stomach with bandages covering his back & part of his side. The cut he had been stitching when Fury found him was also bandaged. "Shepherd says he has a couple of broken ribs & several more are cracked. A few of yours are bruised." Coulson whispered.

"We took swan dives out a second story window onto cement." Fury whispered, looking Clint over. The comatose man laying in the bed looked very different from the man who had hurled a grenade into a group of hostiles without a second thought.

"Sir? If he is completely... even mostly deaf... will he still be of use to us?" Coulson asked.

"Yes. Even if he doesn't think he can help us...he'll stay." Fury said.

"Why?" Coulson inquired.

"Because at this point he either works for us or he runs until he has nowhere to run. Then someone will capture him, torture him & make him beg for death. But they won't kill him. He's worth more alive then dead." Fury told him.

"And you're sure he wants to live?" Coulson asked.

"Yes. He's a professional assassin. He could take his own life easily if he wanted to. And if he couldn't bring himself to do it, he would have let someone else do it for him."

"Also sir... while you were away... Howard Stark & his wife were killed in a car accident. Mr. Stark however did leave you a large sum of money according to the lawyer. Probably to help the Division." Coulson admitted.

Fury forced himself to breath slowly. Howard Stark, though not entirely a friend, had shared his idea for a group to guard the world against what it couldn't or would never understand. "And what about his son?" he asked.

"He had no idea we exist." Coulson assured him.

"Keep it that way." Fury said.

Coulson nodded but didn't move. He wasn't sure if he was free to leave or not yet.

"Make sure a room is ready for Barton when Shepherd releases him. Preferably a large room. There's a smaller chance he'll run if he doesn't feel caged. And have someone set up an archery range." Fury added as an afterthought, easing himself into the chair in the corner.

"Yes sir." Coulson agreed, before disappearing out the door.

Fury closed his good eye & settled in so he could properly process everything that had happened recently.

He had lost his left eye.

Clint Barton, one of the world's best snipers & assassins, was more than likely mostly deaf.

Howard & Marta Stark were dead.

If any week could be described as hell in a hand basket, it would be this one.


	3. Challenge Accepted

Challenge Accepted

**_Author: Why do I have so much fun writing younger Hawkeye!? Probably cuz he's a smart ass like me. Anyways...  
I'm not making Clint completely deaf. He can still hear a little bit but it's not much. Warnings: dark humor, language,  
general snarky-ness, smartass Clint. I own nothing, not a damn thing. Title is two of my bf's favorite words. Go figure._**

Clint cocked his head slowly as he looked out at the landscape spreading out below him.

Or rather... the lack thereof.

He was standing on the roof of a fifteen story building in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

There should be sunny beaches, sun kissed people & the ocean for miles.

But instead all he saw was fog.

"I feel like I'm in something Lovecraft wrote. All it needs is Cthulhu." he smirked darkly.

Pain shot through his ears & his ears began to ring. "What the fuck?" he groaned.

"Barton... hear...?" a faint voice in the wind whispered.

Clint turned to look around & stumbled as the motion upset his balance. "Son of a bitch." he whimpered as he kneeled down on the concrete. Something was very, wrong. He just didn't know what.

"Barton? ... Barton?" the voice in the wind asked as light exploded in front of his eyes.

"Pupils... appears... heart... cardiac..." a second voice said.

"What the hell do you want from me!" Clint shouted into the fog. He was scared... scared in a way he hated.

"I'm... calm..."

"Now you're fucking with my eyesight too? Why not just shoot me?" Clint whimpered as the world blurred & darkened before fading completely.

"Well... that was interesting." Coulson sighed, taking a sip of water.

"Apparently the pain put him in severe distress. To the point that he had a night terror." Streiten said.

"He has a second degree burn on part of his back Shepherd. I would imagine that it would put anyone in severe distress." Fury grumbled.

"And you sir are being snarky." Streiten shot back.

"Snarky? I prefer surly." Fury smirked as Coulson chuckled.

"Coulson shut up." both men said, turning to the younger man.

Coulson smirked & leaned against the wall beside the bed. The assassin was supposed to be his charge when he was healed. Which meant he would need to break him of some, if not a lot, of habits. Glancing down, he saw a pair of blue-grey eyes blinking up at him. "Shepherd... I think he's awake." he said.

"The sedative was only supposed to calm him. Not put him to sleep." Streiten told him.

The world was still a little blurry around the edges but the pain was gone... mostly. It was a dull throb but Clint would take it over the non-stop stabbing pains from earlier.

"Who the hell are you?" he groaned, focusing on the man standing beside him. There was something easy going but guarded about him. He wasn't an assassin or if he had been... quite sometime ago. He didn't have that intense, somewhat rabid look that every assassin Clint had met tended to have. In fact this dark haired, blue eyed man had a face that was easy to forget in a crowd.

"Agent Phil Coulson. Formerly of the CIA." the man said as Clint read his lips.

Former CIA?

At least he wasn't DSS.

He had run into DSS guys before.

And he didn't want to ride that train again.

Coulson glanced over his shoulder & nodded at someone behind him.

Clint turned his head to follow his gaze & saw the man who had, in his mind, started all this when he showed up at his safe house.

"So you're the blame for this. All of it. And to top it all off, YOU FUCKING ARRESTED ME!" Clint snapped.

Fury looked past Coulson & said, "I did not arrest you. Though if you really want me to, I can call someone from the DSS to come here & do just that."

"You. Are. An. Asshole." Clint snarled, reaching for the knife he normally kept hidden in the waistband of his jeans.

Coulson grabbed the assassin's wrist, capturing his attention. "We disarmed you when Director Fury brought you in." he said.

"Fucker! Let me go!" Clint protested, trying to pull his wrist away but the Agent had a vice-like grip.

Fury got up & said, "You two are going to be working together very closely once you're healed Barton. So get used to him."

"Why? What goddamn use to you am I gonna be with my hearing shot to hell?!" Clint snapped.

Coulson released him & Fury smirked before they both walked out into the hall. A third man, who Clint assumed was the doctor, moved into his line of sight.

"You may want to consider skin grafts for your back. They will help the healing process along & reduce the amount of visible scar tissue."

Yeap definitely a doctor.

"Yeah. Fine. Just do what you need to do to get me back in the field again." Clint muttered, eyeing his backpack on the floor by the wall. "Damn it." he groaned.

The doctor followed his gaze before going over & grabbing it off the floor. "Something special inside?" he asked.

"Something like that." Clint muttered, shoving his backpack under the pillow before closing his eyes.

"So?" Fury asked, looking at Phil from where he sat on the arm of a chair in one of the nearby offices.

"He's not quite what I was expecting." Phil admitted, settling on the edge of the desk.

"That good or bad?" Fury inquired.

"Nothing I can't handle." Phil assured him.

"Do better." Fury told him.

Phil looked over his shoulder at his superior with a cocked eyebrow.

"Break him of any habits you feel are a hazard. Tame him if you can." Fury clarified.

Coulson nodded slowly.

The young assassin was feral, annoying, no doubt disobedient & disrespectful.

He had dealt with men like him before.

Although... he had a feeling he might reach the end of his seemingly infinite patience or go insane dealing with Barton.

Slowly a wicked grin crossed Phil Coulson's face as he considered how hard he'd have to work to break the assassin & two words echoed in his mind.

Challenge Accepted.


	4. Ghosts of the Past

Ghosts of the Past

**_Author: Bit of a weird chapter. At one point it got in my head for Phil to have a very dark side he hides. And  
for SHIELD agents to sometimes have to taught with force more than words. Forgive any OOC-ness. Warnings:  
language, violence, abuse to a teenager & a very dark, creepy side of Coulson. I own nobody._**

Clint took a deep breath & slowly stepped out onto the rafter. "Breathe Clint. Breathe" he whispered, trying to will his shakiness away.

There was a net below him of course but he didn't want to have to drop down into it. He had walked on tightropes. A four inch wide rafter should be easy.

"C'mon, you've done this a thousand times." he whispered, forcing himself to take a another step. The world tilted a little bit & he shut his eyes tightly, waiting for the wave of dizziness to pass.

He wasn't afraid of heights. Never had been.

Quite the opposite in fact: he loved them.

High places meant more vantage points... more perches & for him... a sense of safety.

If anyone decided to try to take him out, he'd see them coming long before they saw him.

"Barton?"

Clint twitched & muttered, "I'm here.

He'd never get used to having a voice in his ear, no matter how quiet the voice was sometimes.

"What's keeping you." Coulson asked from his spot on the ground below.

"You try doing this after your eardrums bust & see how well you do." Clint grumbled.

A moment of hesitation which make Clint smirk. Everyone hesitated when someone told them to get up on a tightrope, or in this case: rafters & walk.

"I'll pass." Coulson said after a moment.

"Then how about you shut up & let me concentrate?" Clint hissed, opening his eyes slowly.

Coulson growled in his ear but otherwise fell silent. There was soft click that told Clint Coulson's com was silenced.

"Any luck with the Hawk Agent Coulson?" Fury asked, stepping up behind Coulson.

"Less than I care to admit sir." Coulson sighed.

Fury looked up at the agent on the rafter then down at the net below. "Balance exercises?" he assumed, doing a bit of quick math in his head. The net was still about fifteen or twenty feet above the ground if his math was right. The rafters he knew were at least forty feet up. The hawk was fearless, insane or a mix of the two.

His guess: a mix of the two.

"He mentioned having been an acrobat once. Apparently he is trying to regain his balance. Or at least get it back to where it had been previously." Coulson said, looking over his shoulder at Fury.

Fury nodded & opened his mouth to speak as a scream echoed through the room.

One of the "baby agents" was pointing up at the rafters.

Coulson looked up in time to see Clint hit the net like a rag doll & bounce once, twice... three times before the net went still.

Clint stared up at the ceiling & rafters for a moment before he shook his head. It had been years since he had fallen from that kind of height.

"Well shit." he muttered.

Nothing felt broken. His back stung but that was because of the mostly healed burn.

Slowly he turned his head, testing his neck. No pain there so he was out of the woods where whiplash was concerned.

He was unhurt... except for his bruised pride.

"Barton?!"

Who was yelling his name?

Oh yeah... Coulson.

"Barton!" Coulson snapped.

"What Coulson!?" Clint snapped back. But he didn't move from the net.

"Get your ass down here. Now." Coulson snarled, glaring up at him. The stress was starting to wear on him & it was fueling his temper.

"Agents! Out!" Fury barked.

The "baby agents" & their handlers scattered, rushing out the various exits. When Fury gave an order, he meant it to be followed yesterday.

"Barton!" Fury snapped, turning his attention to the net.

"Yes? Sir?" Clint asked with extreme sarcasm.

"Your handler gave you an order. Now... obey it." Fury commanded.

Clint's eyes narrowed dangerously. He knew that tone all to well.

It had promised severe & painful punishment if disobeyed in his youth. But he hadn't been able to fight back then.

"I am not your motherfucking lapdog! I DO NOT come when you call!" Clint bellowed, vaulting from the net to land on the ground in front of Coulson & Fury.

He realized a moment too late that he had landed in arms reach of both men.

Something Coulson realized before he did.

"Clearly you don't respond to conventional methods." Coulson growled, grabbing him by the shoulder.

"Fucking hell! Let me go!" Clint shouted as Coulson shoved him roughly onto to his stomach.

"Shut up." Coulson growled.

"Fuck you Phil. And fuck..." Clint began as a knife embedded itself in the floor beside his throat, pinning his vest collar down.

Fury watched as Coulson got to his feet, holding Clint in place with the sheer force of the threat behind the knife next to his throat. He didn't enjoy letting his friend indulge his darker side... he hated it with every fiber of his being. But he knew in his gut that there were men who could only learn respect by being put in their place forcefully.

"Keep me from going too far?" Phil hissed.

"Of course." Fury agreed.

Clint turned his head slowly to watch Phil move. This was a different side of his handler... one that terrified him. But also sort of amused him. The seemingly unshakeable agent could be broken down into something raw & chaotic.

"I am not amused Barton. Not by your smart ass attitude. Not by your constant disregard for authority. Especially not by your blatant disrespect for your superiors." Phil growled, crouching in front of him.

"We all have a dark side Coulson. I just embrace mine." Clint whispered.

"I don't suggest provoking me." Phil warned.

"If I do?" Clint asked.

His answer came a moment later when a knife blade touched his neck, just to the side of his jugular.

"I don't suggest it." Phil repeated.

Clint stared at his handler as the knife was removed from his neck & Phil stood. He flinched when a second knife embedded itself in the floor close to his femoral artery, pinning his pant leg down.

"You're brave." Coulson noted, toying with another knife.

"Had worse than knives thrown at me. Been shot with my own arrows." he whispered.

Fury took a step forward as the archer's eyes glazed over. He knew that look.

The look of a tortured individual falling into memories better left alone.

***Flashback***

"Barton!"

Clint flinched when Trick Shot burst through the door of the RV. He was in trouble, not for the first time, but this was probably one of Trick Shot's worst moods.

"You little shit. You can't do one goddamn thing right." he snarled, grabbing Clint roughly by the arm.

"I won't steal from the ringmaster, he's a good guy!" he protested as he tried to pull away from his mentor. But at only sixteen, he wasn't nearly a match for his mentor.

"Shut up!" Trick Shot bellowed, shoving him against one of the practice dummies in the field not far away.

Someone grabbed his wrists & tied them together with Clint guessed was a zip tie.

"Should have done what the old man said little brother."

"Barney?" he choked out before screaming in pain.

The first arrow embedded itself in his right calf.

The second made it's home just above his left hip

The third skimmed by his cheek, leaving a deep gash.

It was a warning.

Had to be...

Trick Shot didn't miss unless he intended to.

***End Flashback***

"Barton?"

Clint's eyes opened slowly.

He was still laying on the floor of the training room. The knife beside his throat was gone as was the one at his thigh.

"Barton?"

Fury was watching him, something like concern & pity in his eyes.

Fury... Fury, who had watched as Coulson had threatened him & threw knives at him.

"If he ever fucking touches me again... I will slit his throat & let him choke on his own blood." Clint growled, glaring up at him.

Fury said nothing, just turned & walked away. The room was still empty. None of the "baby agents" or their handlers had returned.

Good.

He wanted to be alone anyways.

"Stupid motherfuckers. I hope you're all dead." he growled to the empty room.

If anyone, living or dead, heard... they didn't answer.


	5. Darker Side of a Good Man

Darker Side of A Good Man

**_Author: I really have no idea about Phil's childhood & origin story so taking a lot of liberties. I own Fury  
& Coulson's families. Abuse, murder/death, rape (not graphic), language, alcohol (mentioned) & violence._**

Phil's eyes snapped open & he sat up quickly, looking around his room with wide eyes.

"He's dead. He's been dead for eighteen years." he whispered, tossing away sweat soaked sheets.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he went to take a shower. It would calm him & wash away the lingering terror... he hoped.

Glancing in the mirror he caught sight of some of the more noticeable scars on his back, shoulders & chest.

His father had called it discipline.

His mother had never said a word against it.

She had been too terrified... they both had been.

His father had hid his abusive side from friends & coworkers alike.

Nobody had even believed the stories of his so called discipline until they saw the scars.

Phil tilted his head back under the shower, letting the hot water wrap around his shoulders & neck.

***Flashback***

"Say it again boy!" his father demanded.

"Captain America didn't die. And he's gonna come save momma & me from you." Phil said. His voice was laced with far too much venom for an eight year old to speak with.

"Your little hero is going to save you & your bitch mother!" his father growled.

Then his hand was around Phil's throat, choking him.

"Let him go!" his mother shouted, clawing at his father's arm. Her nails dug deep, drawing blood.

"Bitch!" his father howled, letting him go.

Phil was barely conscious as he watched his mother's dress tear down the front.

"Don't watch Phillip." she mouthed as tears sprang to her eyes & the smell of blood filled the room.

He curled into a ball, trying to burn the sight of his mother's tears from his mind as darkness claimed him.

***End Flashback***

Phil watched the water disappear down the drain as he dried his hair. The memory was still haunting him but it didn't make him sick like it used to.

"I wish I had killed you myself." he growled.

Instead someone had done it for him.

Or so he liked to think.

By the time Phil had turned fourteen, his father had shown his explosive temper to everyone. All his coworkers at the lumber mill hated him.

One day in the summer, he had gone missing after spending an evening at the local bar.

Phil & his mother had begun to hope a little bit that day.

On the third day his body was found in a pile of sawdust.

What was left of it anyways.

Some people said rats & some of the strays that hung around had begun to make a meal out of him.

Other people said he got caught up in one of the saw blades.

Regardless of what happened... Phil thought he deserved worse.

"Eighteen years dead & you're still thinking of ways to kill him?" came an all too familiar voice as he pulled a shirt over his head.

"Some days. Others..." Phil shook his head to dispel the train of thought.

Fury nodded slowly from the doorway. He understood what Phil had not said.

"How's Barton?" Phil asked, motioning him in.

"He said that the next time you touch him, he's going to slit your throat & let your choke on your own blood." Fury told him.

"Do you think he'd do it Nick?" Phil asked, stretching out on his bed.

"I know he's capable of it. He has a very long list of victims. All male. No women or children." Fury admitted, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Strange habit for an assassin." Phil muttered.

"Well. I'm taking a guess that he was in the same boat as you were once." Fury told him.

Phil groaned & muttered, "What do you want me to tell him. That when I was eight my father almost choked me to death. And when my mother pulled him off of me, he threw her to the floor & raped her. Not even six feet from me. All because I told him Captain America was alive & going to rescue me & mom from him."

"You believed that?" Fury chuckled, looking at him.

"Until the day he was found dead." Phil whispered. The look in his eyes said that he was not joking.

"I'm sorry." Fury told his friend.

***Flashback***

"Nicholas! Go get the door!"

"Yes Ma'am!"

Fourteen year old Nick Fury looked out the front door to his parents house & called, "Ma it's Phil from down the street!"

"Well let him in child! I know I taught you better!" his mother called over the sound of his fussy baby sister.

"I'm not gonna keep you long. Not if you gotta go help your ma with the baby." Phil said, as Nick stepped out on the porch & shut the door.

"What's going on?" Nick asked. Phil looked about ready to scream from excitement.

"He's dead. They found him in a big pile of sawdust & wood chips at the mill. Mama just told me & she was talking with Old Man Wilkins." Phil said.

"Wow." Nick breathed. He wasn't sure if he should be happy or not. Phil's father had never been a good man.

"Tell your Ma hi for me. I promised mine I'd only be gone for a minute." Phil said, hopping off the porch.

**_*End Flashback*_**

"You didn't hear anything I just said did you?" Phil asked.

Fury blinked up at him & cocked an eyebrow. "No?"

"I said: Let's go get some food from the mess hall."

"Alright... alright." Fury said, pushing himself up.


End file.
